


Keep Pushin’

by victorianvirgil



Series: A Melody of Burning Matches [6]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: 1980s band fic, Angst, Band Fic, M/M, Prinxiety - Freeform, Seemingly unrequited love, angst w/o happy ending, brief mention of sex, bro it’s a ball of angst that’s it, just for this one at least, logicality - Freeform, oh look another amobm ficlet surprise surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 10:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21492985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorianvirgil/pseuds/victorianvirgil
Summary: A Melody of Burning Matches Ficlet to be read after Chapter 12 (continue on at your own risk)Two years have passed since Virgil Irons broke things off with Roman Castillo and a little less than that since his band, Apparition, came to a crashing end. Virgil makes his first secret appearance in the public after Remy and Patton from the band Bloodline invite him to their show in New York City where Virgil resides.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Series: A Melody of Burning Matches [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1441996
Comments: 24
Kudos: 30





	Keep Pushin’

**Author's Note:**

> I definitely recommend listening to REO Speedwagon’s “Keep Pushin’” because it’s one of my favorite songs of all time and was actually the working title of A Melody of Burning Matches.

_ July 3, 1985 _

In the back of a taxi cab, a man with dark hair and a pale complexion was fiddling with a guitar pick, rubbing his thumb against the smooth surface in an attempt to soothe himself.

Virgil Irons had hardly slept the night before, the sunglasses concealing the bags beneath his eyes and the redness in them. While he may have been braving the crowds, he certainly wasn’t going to do it sober. 

A quick check of his watch told Virgil that it was already quarter-past nine, and with what he knew about performing shows, Bloodline had probably been performing for nearly twenty minutes now. He had been singing to a screaming crowd for nearly twenty minutes.

But not Virgil, no, that was over, Virgil didn’t sing. Hadn’t in years.

The vocal part of music was ruined for him but he hadn’t been that good anyway. Not like Thomas who had given it up after the band split, abandoning his beard and found a guy to settle down with, nor Remy who although never sang for Apparition in his days before joining Bloodline was damn good. Even Patton, surprisingly able to scream with venom on his tongue. Or-

Well, he would hear him tonight.

It was Remy and Patton that had invited him, not Roman, and Virgil was there for his ex-bassist and one of his good childhood friends. Roman’s presence had nothing to do with him going. It didn’t matter at all.

As long as the other didn’t see him mouthing the words to their songs, the new ones that he had no reason for knowing, it would be fine. Even if the album had been named after an unreleased Apparition song Virgil had written with Roman as his main muse.

The name had been an opportunity for Roman to whisper the words—as dirty as some of them may be—he had never gotten the chance to say and for Virgil to hear them, eyes closed as the tape inside the cassette spun around and around.

Each song a new conversation that they had never had.

Virgil was tugged away from his thoughts as the taxi came to a screeching halt, his driver turning his head and looking Virgil’s way over his shoulder. Apparition’s ex-guitarist pulled out a wad of bills from his pocket, gently placing them on the man’s palm before opening the door and stepping out. He lowered the Yankees baseball cap—when in New York, do as the New Yorkers do—to cover more of his face, soon fishing for his ticket in his pocket and handing it to the salesman.

“A bit late to the show, huh?” the man asked, his thick Brooklyn accent very much apparent and reminding him strongly of Remy. A New Yorker through and through, it seemed, not a poser like Virgil.

“Had to tuck the kids into bed,” Virgil monotonously replied, giving the man a small nod in thanks before walking past him and into the stadium that was practically a second home. A third or fourth, at the very least.

He had hardly taken a few steps inside before he was overwhelmed by the sound of screaming, individuals indistinguishable from one another—the crowd a monster with one voice that roared into the night. A few more steps and there was guitar, Logan seeming to be in the middle of a solo. Virgil continued, flashing the backstage pass to a security guard without revealing his face. The man let him inside without a word, Virgil trapped in the belly of the beast.

But he had entered willingly, he reminded himself as he trudged further. He knew his way through the halls, the maze of rooms simplistic to him from all the years he had spent playing and stumbling around in various states of intoxication.

It took only a few minutes to find Joan, greeting Bloodline’s manager with a small nod before pocketing his sunglasses and looking towards the stage just as the drums kicked in. Remy joined with his bass, complimenting Logan’s guitar and the harmonious screams of the crowd, waiting for the singer to accompany them for the last stretch of the song. Their leader, master, Prince, or whatever he would call himself. And he did, moments later, ravishing the beast with his wanton words.

A charismatic bastard, knowing just how badly everyone around him wanted to fuck the living daylights out of him.

The song ended with a high note that Roman sang beautifully, allowing the phrase to stretch on into infinity, even after his other bandmates stopped playing. The crowd couldn’t look away, and Virgil forced himself to avert his gaze.

Luckily, Joan decided to initiate the inevitable conversation, giving Virgil an opportunity to focus on something else. “What brings you here?”

Casual for the fact that Virgil had been practically untraceable for two years and as if he didn’t know what was rather common knowledge now among the ten of them that had been on tour not too long ago.

“I was in the area, thought I’d drop by. Can’t stay long, though. Busy all the time, you know?”

Joan nodded as if the manager did in fact know, looking back towards the band. Roman had ventured to the back of the stage, taking a sip of water and rustling Patton’s hair before lifting his microphone again.

“I have to say, I’m having a great time with you all tonight.”

The flinch that contorted Virgil’s body was entirely involuntarily, and he knew that if he checked his pulse, he would find it beating rapidly. Roman’s voice was deeper than he remembered, raspy in a way Virgil had only ever heard after the other had been on his knees with his mouth-

Virgil swallowed, forcing himself to look at his former bandmate that seemed so at home with the men Virgil had known all his life. And Remy was smiling. But they were all smiling at one another, even Logan as he re-tuned his guitar. Roman was talking the crowd up, watching as they swayed with him and knelt before his feet when he commanded it.

Roman Prince, a king at last.

“In the fall of ‘82, we toured with this little band called REO Speedwagon-” the crowd interrupted him with their screams. It made him laugh, Virgil tensing once more. He could hardly breathe—aside from his Yankees cap he was wearing a goddamn shirt with the _ Hi Infidelity _ cover for fuck’s sake—finding himself pulled through a forgotten road of his soul by a boy with a dirty smile and sinful eyes to match. A different person from the man that looked at this New York crowd the same way.

A man that he loved all the same.

“And we got to know them pretty well—no, darling, they’re not coming out tonight.”

Patton threw his head back in laughter as Logan waved Roman off, rolling his eyes as he continued to fiddle with his guitar. He strummed a chord, slow and steady, not at the pace of the actual song, of course, but a warm up. A teaser to get the crowd going. And they ate it up, screaming their names in harmonies that rivaled the ones Roman, Logan, and Remy had mastered over the past few years together.

“So when I told Kev that we were touring and wanted to cover one of his songs, he dropped to his knees before me with tears in his eyes.”

“That is not at all what happened,” Logan countered when he leaned into the microphone, “but they did say yes. So here’s Keep ‘Pushin’.’”

Roman gaped at his friend, seeming to hold back his smile as he pretended to be appalled. But the music had started so there was no time for banter before he brought the microphone to his lips and began to sing.

_ “I used to be lonely ‘till I learned about livin’ alone.” _

The way he stressed each word was precise, and despite the song not belonging to him in the first place, Roman used Cronin’s mouth to paint a beautiful picture.

_ “I found other things to keep my mind on.” _

A man, heartbroken beyond belief, was stumbling through life while being pulled every which way. He had a lover once, one that he was convinced would warm his bed every night and his heart every day until his final breath, but this partner abandoned him. For his own good, of course, but he hadn’t seen that at the time.

_ “Whoa, I keep pushin’ on.” _

He had been dragged away kicking and screaming from the man he loved, finding solace in the bodies of other men and in the music he sang in places far, far away from home. From his home.

From Virgil.

Days faded into years and at some point during that time, a smile more genuine than the fake plaster during performances had worked its way across his lip, and he wasn’t entirely sure when exactly that happened. But it didn’t matter because it was there now and he no longer reached across his bed when stirred from nightmares, searching for warmth and comfort from a body no longer there.

Hadn’t in over a year, not since he found that the only man he needed to love was himself. He had evolved, overcome him; Virgil had broken his heart in order to allow Bloodline to flourish and to not hold Roman back.

And Roman was glad for it.

_ “And it’s coming together, I finally feel like a man, oh yes I do.” _

Virgil could hardly breathe, forcing himself to lower his hand from his chest in order to not make a scene. But Joan had noticed and was staring at him with great intent, worry pooling in those clever eyes.

It wasn’t until Remy and Logan leaned into their microphones to begin singing along did Virgil seem to stop existing entirely, dragged so far into his memories that his heart began to bleed all over again. The tears he had seen in the other’s eyes that day returned, flashing behind his closed eyelids as he shook his head in a vain attempt to rid himself from them. To compose himself for fucks sake.

_ “Everyday I wake a little bit higher, whoa I keep pushin’ on.” _

Breaking Roman’s heart was his biggest regret, but he knew that he would do it all over again. The other could handle it, and he was proving it right then. Standing on his own two feet and singing about how happy he was. Yes, Virgil would do it again. Even if it fucking killed him.

“I-I have to go,” Virgil stuttered, unable to contain himself for a moment longer. “Something I forgot I had to do.”

Virgil knew where Joan’s loyalties rested as he turned on his heel and sprinted towards the door without the fear of being chased down, sunglasses on once more as he infiltrated the crowd of people already leaving. Fans not dedicated enough to stay and brave the inevitable traffic, no doubt.

But in his state, Virgil couldn’t find it in himself to even care about being spotted. Joan would tell them—tell _ him _— that he had been there and that he had run away the moment Roman sang about having long since moved on, that he wasn’t a lost boy helplessly in love. He was a man, one that didn’t need to hold Virgil’s hand to walk through the world, nor would he need a guide after he took his last breath and strolled into Hell to take over the damned place.

Virgil collapsed into the back seat of the nearest taxi, visibly shaking and hoping that the driver wouldn’t recognize him and instead suspect that he was merely a druggie at a rock concert. Anything but a man suffocating in darkness when he realized that there was no hopes of rekindling the spark with his former flame. Burned out with no hope of ever finding the light again.

After a quick exchange, they were off, the driver maneuvering the taxi through the ever-crowded roads of the city. But Virgil could hardly acknowledge his skill, nor could he appreciate the beautiful lights twinkling around him.

He could still hear the other’s voice in his head and how it contradicted everything Roman had said himself─all the words he had scrawled out for the new album when he was too emotional to stop himself. “Homebound” to explain that no matter how far he traveled, he always found his way home; “Thunder and Lighting” a promise to never let the memory of his first true love go.

And maybe that was true, maybe Roman would never let him go, but not in the way Virgil realized he wanted. Maybe the other was glad to have loved, but knew fully well that he could never love him again, never love Virgil with the intensity he had that summer. He realized that he didn’t need him and maybe, maybe he hadn’t loved him all that much in the first place.

Virgil was trembling, nearly choking on his thoughts.

The taxi stopped short and Virgil slammed into the back of the passenger’s seat. He hadn’t braced himself for it, too distracted by his thoughts to watch for things like that. To keep himself in a reality in which Roman did not love him anymore.

_ Roman Roman Roman _, singing not about how much he had loved Virgil all those years ago, but instead about his pain. How it pained him no more.

Virgil attempted to subtly yank at his hair, realizing that he was making a scene in the backseat of a fucking taxi. His driver thought him a druggie for sure, hooked on a supply that had dried out years ago.

In a way, the assumption wasn’t too far off.

The taxi lurched forward, Virgil flying back as they pushed through the traffic, slipping in and out of lanes to continue on. Increasing the distance between them, moving further and further away from him. And after a deep breath, Virgil lowered his hand into his lap and locked the memories of Roman away. He would be able to open that box one day, smile as he flipped through memories of the two of them when they were scabbed over, when they hurt less.

“Keep Pushin’,” he whispered in a voice so soft that it barely caught his own ears as he willed himself to forget about the metaphorical box of memories. And despite the way his body continued to shake, that the smiles of the most beautiful people did nothing to him anymore because they were not _ him _ and never would be, he would do just that.

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys,
> 
> bruh ik, i cried too
> 
> first and foremost would like to establish that v irons doesn’t have kids, he was just saying that to cover up the fact that he had been putting off going and eventually talked himself into it (not sure if that translated so just wanted to let you all know that in this point in time, he’s single and not a father lmaooo)
> 
> alright secondly, we’re officially almost done! just the epilogue that i’m editing and then one last ficlet and this story is officially over!! i’ll have a long rant in the epilogue (this friday) probs so i’ll keep this short, basically just thank you guys for sticking with me even if this hurts you a bit
> 
> until next time,  
ronnie
> 
> p.s. i was writing this and mac and i were texting and ended up facetiming each other sobbing over this and the epilogue so : )


End file.
